


epitome of contentment

by onceuponamoon



Series: abo jt/ebs [15]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 01:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: Summertime daycare is a blessing.





	epitome of contentment

**Author's Note:**

> hoooooooo it took me a month to get this one finished, so i hope y'all are still here and ready for a new one! 
> 
> HUGE shoutout to the anons who ask questions on tumblr, to paige, and to hope. y'all are keeping this verse alive. 
> 
> your comments, kudos, and messages seriously mean the world to me, y'all.

**September 2025**

 

Summertime daycare is a blessing.

While John might’ve been hesitant to put the kids in it in the beginning, being massively pregnant has given him an appreciation for the kind of quiet that’s typically unattainable with three small children running around. Now, he’s -- not looking _forward_ to them being dropped off each day, not exactly, but he looks forward to the peace that the handful of hours of solitude warrants.

The other great thing about it is that it means John can clean or meal prep or just fucking _rest_ while Jordan and the kids are gone.

It also offers a place for two of the three kids to play and learn while John keeps the remaining one home for some concentrated one-on-one time once a month: today, for example, is a Nico day.

Nico looks up at John from around the swell of his belly and asks, “Can we make cookies, _Papai?_ ”

At four and a half, Nico’s surprisingly deft with a mixing spoon and great at following directions.

“Sure, bud,” John says, ruffling Nico’s dark hair. “Can you push that stool over to the counter?”

“Okay!”

Though it’s heavy and much bigger than him, Nico scrapes the barstool across the kitchen tile -- _sorry, Jordan!_ \-- until it’s flush against the counter by the sink rather than the island. He climbs it, plops himself down, and looks expectantly at John. 

After setting the oven to preheat, John waddles around the kitchen, gathering bowls and ingredients and measuring cups and spoons, and brings everything back to Nico, who’s practically bouncing in place with excitement.

“ _Papai_ , I think we should make, um...chocolate cookies.”

“Chocolate ones, eh? Those are Daddy’s favorite,” John points out.

“Yeah,” Nico says. “Daddy’s sad he -- he can’t stay home. He smells like it and his beard is scratchy on my face when he leaves.”

John’s throat constricts a bit, which he attributes mainly to pregnancy hormones, and he can’t help but press a kiss to Nico’s hair. “That’s very sweet of you to think of Daddy.”

After creaming together some sugar and eggs and butter, John measures out flour and cocoa powder through a sifter and lets Nico stir it all together. He melts some chocolate to pour into the batter and adds in vanilla extract, baking soda, and salt, then says, “Alright,” to Nico, “Stir away, bud.”

Nico beams, wielding the spoon and letting loose a happy giggle. 

He wiggles as he stirs, keeping it mostly contained to the bowl while John works on greasing a pair of cookie sheets. 

“ _Papai?_ ”

“Yeah, bud?”

“You forgot the chocolate chips,” he points out. 

John feins a gasp, says, “Oh, my goodness, you’re right.” He squeezes Nico into his side and ruffles his hair. “What would I do without such a smart boy to help me out?”

“Forget _everything_ ,” Nico says with confidence. “But Daddy would help you.”

Snickering, John gently takes the wooden spoon from Nico’s grasp to scrape along the sides of the bowl. “You know, you’re probably right.” Once he’s gotten most of the debris off the sides of the bowl and incorporated back into the midst of the mixture, he hands the spoon back to Nico. “Can’t forget the chocolate chips.”

Nico’s happy to continue stirring, even as John finally adds the chocolate chips. He groans, using both hands and -- John sees the bowl tipping, so he shuffles over to steady it before it goes crashing to the floor.

“Thanks, _Papai,_ ” Nico says.

John waits until Nico declares himself finished and then gets the batter scooped out onto two cookie sheets in round little balls. Nico clambers down from the stool and pushes it back, scraping loudly, while John pops the cookies into the oven.

“Alright, buddy,” John says, washing his hands at the sink. “What do you wanna do while we wait?”

“Umm,” Nico says, pouting his lips as he looks around the kitchen. “We could snuggle!”

John smiles softly, overwhelmed with affection for his youngest son. “Alright, but on the couch, okay?” he says, “The den’s too far and we don’t want the cookies to burn.”

“Yeah,” Nico agrees, nodding. He takes John’s hand and leads him through the dining room and into the open space of the living room. 

He insists that John sit down first and gathers all of the throw pillows to arrange around him until he can comfortably recline. 

“Oh, thank you, Nico,” John says, when he brings the last two pillows from the settee in the far corner. He plumps them up and then hands them back to his son. “Can you put these under my feet, bub? Oh, yeah, thank you so much.”

Nico beams, glad to have helped, and climbs up onto the couch, clambering over John’s swollen ankles and up between his legs to hug around John’s belly. He’s half-kneeling, slumped onto John, and it doesn’t look very comfortable, but Nico starts purring like this is the happiest he’s ever been. His purrs are high, a little choppy in the way that most young omegas’ are, and with his cheek mashed against the side of John’s belly, purring as he is, Nico honestly _looks_ like the epitome of contentment.

John pets at his hair and his purrs grow louder.

And then John feels the twins jostling around inside of him, pressing closer and closer to where Nico’s face and throat and chest are nudged up against John’s skin. One of them kicks and Nico starts, surprised and delighted.

“She kicked me!” he says, giggling. To John’s belly, he says, “That’s not very nice, baby sister.”

He smacks a kiss to the same spot and rubs at John’s belly.

“Are you showing her how to be nice?” John asks, heart clenching.

Nico nods, grinning Jordan’s crooked little grin. “If I show her how to be nice then she’ll want to play with me when she comes out,” he reasons.

John smiles back, petting at Nico’s hair. “You’re my sweet baby, huh?” He grins wider when Nico nods again, and then says, “Alright, up. Time for snuggles with _me_ , not my belly.”

Carefully, because he’s actually an angel, Nico climbs into the crack between John and the back of the couch, wedging himself in and tucking under John’s chin to bury his face into John’s neck, scenting. 

The inevitable reminiscing of when _Nico_ was the one in his belly has John purring to hide the little tinge of melancholy, missing the time when Nico and his siblings had never been closer to him. There’s something incredibly intimate about carrying life inside you, _growing_ actual humans with thoughts and dreams and personalities even in the womb, then -- then they’re out and squirming and _crying_ and it’s -- as cliche as it is, it really is like a little piece of John’s heart and soul is in each and every one of them. Walking around outside of his body -- talking, getting into trouble, laughing, becoming something -- _someone_ new. 

John heaves in a shaky breath and --

Then Nico starts purring all over again, louder, his scent rounding out with soft-sweetness.

He really is the sweetest boy.

They lie like that, just purring for each other until the timer on John’s phone goes off. Nico scrambles off the couch to silence it and then offers out his hands to help heave John off the couch. It doesn’t help much, but he grunts and groans and Nico giggles at the all the effort.

He scampers into the kitchen ahead of John, getting up on his tiptoes to try to peek into the oven at the cookies.

The wire racks are in one of the lower drawers, so John assigns Nico the task of getting them out and put on the island. John dons oven mitts, pulls the cookies out, and sets the hot pans onto the stove before turning the oven off.

“Can we eat them now, _Papai?_ ”

“Not yet, _myszko_.” John tucks him in close to his side, squeezes his shoulder. “They’ve gotta cool off a little bit first.”

Nico sighs, put-upon, and says, “Kids aren’t very good at waiting.”

John’s just barely able to contain his laughter. Instead, he nods sagely and says, “I know, buddy.” He smells content enough, but John rubs a knuckle against Nico’s throat and cuffs his chin just to hear the little chirpy purr he releases. “Can you grab me a spatula from the drawer?”

Nodding, Nico decides hopping is the best method of transportation for spatula retrieval. He grabs it and hops back, holding it up and nearly smacking John in the belly with it. 

John transfers the cookies from the pan to the cooling racks while Nico climbs up onto the stool, leaning in over the cookies to get a look at the way the chocolate firms up. John catches him poking at one and says, “ _Hey,_ ” in a tone that brokers no argument and Nico apologizes, negated by the fact that he giggles anyway. 

“Alright,” John says, after tossing the spatula into the sink with the other dishes. “Count ‘em up.”

He watches as Nico carefully does, one-by-one, and finishes with a proud, “Twenty-four!”

“Good job,” John says, beaming with pride. “Can you do it again, by twos?”

It’s a good way to whittle away time while they wait for the cookies to cool, and Nico’s, surprisingly, able to count by both twos and threes, but fours end up being a little too much for him. He quietly counts the off-numbers, saying the multiples louder for John to hear. Multiplication isn’t something they’ve been working on, so John’s surprised, honestly -- and proud as hell.

“That’s a good job, Nico,” John says, surprised and delighted, “Have you been practicing at dayc -- at _school?_ ”

Nico beams, but shakes his head. “Nope, just with Matty.”

And -- that’s another surprise. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, fidgeting closer to the cookies, eyes on them instead of John, “When we play hockey in the den, he does twos or threes for shooting. Unless we lost a ball. I count them so I know how many I stop.”

Huffing a surprised laugh, John says, “That’s -- that’s really smart, _myszko_. Did he teach you that?”

“No, I _saw_ it,” Nico says easily, nonchalant as if learning multiplication on his own at four-and-a-half isn’t a big fucking deal. He mimes blocking a shot and John steadies him with a hand on his back to keep him from toppling off the barstool. “He always does it. Plus, three means a hatty and he always _yells_ when he gets one. I count how many he gets. It’s just counting, _Papai._ ”

If John didn’t know any better, he’d think that Nico might become a goalie, just for the sake of casually one-upping his brother without even meaning to. Too bad he’s sweet and not crazy enough.

“Alright, I think that earns you two cookies,” John says, “And two cookies for me, for making you.”

“Two and two means _four_ cookies,” Nico mumbles. 

He picks the two biggest ones for himself and already has one half-shoved into his mouth before John makes noises about getting plates and -- well. Not using plates won’t kill them. They’ll just have to eat at the bar instead of on the couch. John heaves himself up onto the stool and selects a cookie for himself.

“So, what were you learning with Miss Jen?” John asks, taking a bite of his own, slightly more modest cookie.

“She teached us, um. Primary colors.”

“She _taught_ you primary colors. Which ones are those?”

“Um,” Nico says around another smacking bite of cookie, “Red.” He chirps a little purr and then cuts himself off, more than likely remembering John warning him of the dangers of choking. “And yellow.” He swallows. “And blue! She says you can make _any_ color from them.”

“That’s pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nico agrees. “Next week we’re gonna learn second-colors. Hey, _Papai?_ ”

John hums.

“When are the babies coming out?”

Huffing a laugh, John says, “Hopefully very soon.”

“Oh.” He lets that sit for a moment and then asks, “Are they gonna be like me an’ you or are they gonna be like Daddy and Matty and Addie?”

“Well,” John says, swallowing another bite of cookie. “We don’t know that yet, bud.”

“When do we know?”

John finds himself smiling softly, remembering when Nico first let the world know his dynamic. It was the first day of spring, still too nippy to really count as spring, but Jordan had been all lit up, practically giddy from all the friends and family in to finally meet the babies. Nico hadn’t made much noise, but he’d been blinking widely at them, pursing his mouth and trying to coax out more than just the soft ‘ooh’ sounds his siblings were making. 

They’d just woken up from a nap and were taking turns nursing and getting bottle-fed, John in the recliner and Jordan in the rocking chair and -- Nico’d pulled off of John, purred, choppy and stilted, but still obviously a _purr_ and Jordan’s head had snapped up, beaming with tear-shiny eyes like it was the greatest gift he ever could’ve been given.

“Not for a while, buddy,” John finally answers. “You were almost three months old when you first purred. Matty was a little younger when he first growled.” 

He’d been mad about being taken away from his milk-source, cut short because John’s production was shit, and he’d growled so steadily he could’ve been mistaken for a year old instead of only ten weeks. 

“And Addie was older,” he says. She’d been scratched by an errant flailing hand, hard enough to cut the skin and give her that tiny little scar she still has on the bridge of her nose. “It’ll depend on the babies and when they’re ready.”

“Okay.” Nico licks the chocolate from his fingers, smears some up the side of his cheek. “I think they’ll be like me and you, _Papai._ ”

“Yeah?” he asks, laughing when Nico nods, bouncing a little in his chair as he starts in on cookie number two. “We’ll see, buddy.”

“Hey, _Papai?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” Nico says, simple as that.

John smiles and leans in to press a kiss to an un-chocolately part of his cheek. “I love you, more, _myszko._ ”

Nico beams.

 

By the time they’ve cleaned up and Nico’s worked out his sugar rush, John’s exhausted enough to tug his son onto the couch in the den for a nap. Nico purrs and purrs and purrs, questions quieted for the moment, happy enough to just snuggle and bask in the pregnancy pheromones John’s giving off. Breaking only to tell John that he, “smells really, _really_ good.” 

John’s still dozing when the scent of his alpha tickles at the back of his throat, and then a hand comes to rest in his hair, too large to be any of the kids’.

“You have a good nap, buddy?” Jordan’s asking Nico, voice quiet.

John feels Nico nod against his throat, and then -- the weight of him is gone, and John frowns, squinting his eyes open. “ _Hey,_ ” he gravels out.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Jordan says, bending to press a kiss to John’s forehead. “I see you and Neeks made cookies today.” 

Stretching, John nods and gives a yawn. “He did most of the work.”

“I stirred lots,” Nico agrees, head tucked beneath Jordan’s chin.

“Uh huh,” Jordan says. If the look on his face is anything to go by, John’ll be getting an earful later about being on his feet when he should be on bedrest. 

John shrugs and then struggles upright, sluggish from the weight and the nap and probably the sugar crash too. “Where’re Addie and Matty?”

“Eating dinner,” Jordan says, “Want me to bring you a plate?”

John hums an affirmative. “Help me up, first. I gotta pee.”

Jordan sets Nico down and he scurries back over to help, both of them taking one of John’s hands while he uses his other one to push himself up. They manage to get him upright and then Jordan’s -- he’s absolutely checking John out, eyes on the swell of his belly, the slope of his shoulders, and the flex of his biceps.

John quirks a brow and doesn’t bother trying to quell a smirk. He tosses Jordan a look over his shoulder as he waddles to the bathroom -- and smiles when it just makes Jordan laugh, scent apple-bright.

 

Once dinner’s all settled for the kids, they pile downstairs and into John’s awaiting arms, ready for scenting and snuggles --

At least until Jordan’s picking them up and moving them aside, saying, “Daddy’s turn. Go play.”

Matty convinces Nico to be in goal for him and --

“Did you know our son knows basic multiplication?” John asks Jordan. “Because I was surprised and _very_ impressed this morning.”

Jordan curls up around John like he wants to be a parenthesis, but is more like a comma with how much bigger John is than him right now. “Mhm,” Jordan says, rubbing his cheek along John’s jaw, “He calls it ‘just counting.’” He runs the back of a knuckle over John’s side and somehow that simple touch, even through his shirt, is enough to light John up.

“Who’d’ve thought we’d make smart babies?” John says, only a little breathless.

Matty crows, cellying and Nico bats the ball out of the net and back to his brother. Addie’s building a _Duplo_ house for her favorite babydoll, completely uninterested in the hockey going on a few feet away which is probably a direct result of getting hit in the face one time too many.

“How was practice?” John asks.

He feels Jordan pull a face, frowning if the scent’s anything to go by. “It was alright. ‘S weird knowing you’re not captain.” He sighs, snuggling closer. “Barzy’s -- he’s trying, but he’s kinda scared shitless, ya know?”

John laughs, remembering the feeling well. “He’s ready,” he says confidently.

“Yeah,” Jordan agrees. He reaches down, rubbing at the curve of John’s belly right where one of the twins is pressing up at the skin, trying to get comfy. “I think he is too. _He_ needs to think it, though, or he’ll burn out quick.”

“It’s time for a new era,” John says. “I led us to a Cup win, but...I think with Barzy, we’ll get more. At least one more before we retire.”

“What’re you talking about retirement for, old man?” Jordan teases, “Don’t go jinxing us.”

Again, Matty crows, laughing loudly and turning to shout, “Daddy! Did you see that?”

“Yeah, buddy, nice sauce,” Jordan says, not even bothering to lift his face from John’s neck. They both laugh when they hear Matty yell, “ _Sniiiiiiiipe!_ ”

John’s belly tugs tightly and he winces; Jordan rubs a little more firmly. 

“They giving you trouble?” Jordan asks.

“No more than usual,” John says. “Probably just mad about the cookies.”

“Uh huh,” Jordan says, “About that. What part of ‘bedrest’ means stand on your feet all day making cookies? Because I’m pretty sure it’s just those two simple parts: _bed_ and _rest_. As in, rest in bed.”

John quashes his amused little grin and tries not to roll his eyes. “Listen,” he says, “If an hour on my feet is enough to put things into motion, then it’s time for them to come out.”

“You haven’t seen your ankles since you woke up, have you?”

“That could just be from the cookies,” he says. John can feel them, vaguely, but most of him just feels tight and bloated, puffy all over. They’re probably just as swollen as everything else. “Eating them,” he clarifies.

“Maybe,” Jordan hedges. 

Regardless of his approval, or lack thereof, Jordan’s happy enough to chat with John about how his and Nico’s day went, how he’s feeling, if he’s finally narrowed down the list of names from ten. His scent flattens when he talks about the conditioning they did at practice, and then spikes back up towards happy when Addie comes over to press her face to John’s belly, then a kiss to his cheek before scampering off to play again.

“We made some pretty good kids, eh?” 

“Yeah,” Jordan agrees, “Guess we did.” He taps a knuckle along the top of John’s belly. “Think these two’ll be any good?”

John snorts. “Please, for the love of god,” he says, “Don’t jinx it. The way this pregnancy’s gone...I wouldn’t be surprised if I gave birth to two rowdy little shits.”

Face tucked into John’s neck, Jordan giggles. “So, they’ll be just like you?”

“Okay, _pot_ ,” John says. “Kettle’s gotta pee again. Help me up?”

When John gets back, all three kids are snuggled up on top of Jordan, hockey sticks and Legos abandoned, and -- John absolutely snaps a picture from over the back of the couch. All of them look up at the sound and -- 

God, they all smile the same exact smile, and John’s hit with a wave of helpless affection so strong that he starts purring loudly even as tears gather in the corners of his eyes. 

“Come lay with us, _Papai!_ ” Nico says on the tail end of a purr, bright as the sun, “Then we can all snuggle!” 

And...how could John ever say no to that?

 

Once den time ends, they head upstairs for quick baths and pajamas, then back downstairs for bedtime snacks and sippy cups half-filled with milk, and then story time on the couch. As it’s Nico’s special day, it’s his turn to pick out what they read. He goes for _Babies Don’t Eat Pizza_ by Dianne Danzig. It’s a super cute book about what to expect as an older sibling, how to handle all kinds of babies regardless of their ability or dynamic, and how they might be born or welcomed into a family.

At the kids’ request, Jordan reads because apparently he’s “better at it” (which is _rude_ , Matty), but John’s happy enough to sit and listen with Nico leaning against his side, sipping from his cup and intermittently purring.

“Is that how the babies are gonna come outta _Papai_ ’s tummy?” Addie asks. 

Jordan makes slightly panicked eyes, but recovers quickly, saying, “Uh, no, sweetie, that’s -- you know how _Papai_ has the scar on his belly?”

She nods and Nico, heedless of John’s current comfort, lifts up the bottom of John’s shirt with one hand to look at it. John, of course, can’t see it anymore, hasn’t been able to for months, but he knows it’s long since gone white and at this point it’s probably stretched back wide across the bottom curve of his belly.

“It’s just like in the book,” Jordan explains, pointing to the picture on the next page, “They’ll make a little cut in _Papai’_ s belly and then pull the babies out from there.”

“A doctor gives me medicine so it doesn’t hurt when they do it,” John adds. Gently as he can, he says, “But after, when the babies are here, you still have to be very careful with me because it takes a little while to heal.”

All three of them are quiet, contemplative. Matty’s the one who asks, “Like when Daddy hurted his knee?”

“Yeah, _kluseczko_ , like when Daddy hurt his knee,” John says. “No jumping on _Papai_ for a little while.”

Matty nods, and that’s that.

Jordan finishes the book and even as the kids are listing, they still ask questions and listen raptly when Jordan or John explain how things will work for their particular situation: like how _Babcia_ and _Vovô_ are gonna come stay with them until the babies come out and then how they’ll all come stay in a nest in the hospital for a little while so the babies can get used to their scents and learn who they are. 

Jordan’s gentle with them, patient, and so sweet that John’s heart clenches -- even as one of the twins kicks hard enough at his ribs to make his breath catch. 

“Alright, kiddos,” Jordan says, closing the book. “Teeth brushed and then _Papai_ will come purr for you.”

John gets help off the couch as the kids scamper back upstairs to jostle for space in their bathroom -- while Jordan crowds up into his.

“You got plans for later?” he asks, smirk wide and -- not smooth at all. He has both hands on John’s belly the way he would’ve held John’s hips if it were maybe seven months ago when John hadn’t quite started rounding out. 

John nearly snorts, but rolls his eyes instead and says, “You mean before or after we fall asleep to HGTV?”

Jordan makes a _pfft_ sound and says, “Come _on_ , we’re only thirty-five. We’re not that old yet.”

“Speak for yourself, old man,” John says, “You know I’m only thirty-four. But I’m massively pregnant -- with _your babies_ , alpha.”

Jordan’s scent scorches the back of John’s throat with how wildly intense it gets, bright and cool, like a mouthful of mint. “Yeah, you are.”

John hasn’t had a real heat in nearly nine months and -- god, for a second there he wishes he could just...get pregnant all over again. 

“Alright, alright,” John concedes, “Stop getting me riled up before I gotta go lay with the kids. Jeez.”

Jordan laughs, bright and loud and breathy, and then leans in for a quick kiss before he gently pats at John’s hips to urge him towards the stairs. “You go,” he says, “I’ll clean up and meet you in bed.” He waggles his eyebrows, and John _really_ shouldn’t be into it.

John waddles his way to the stairs and slowly, carefully, makes his way up them. There’s still noise in the bathroom when he makes it, only a little short of breath, and he goes to lean in the doorway to supervise, because sometimes Matty only pretends to actually use toothpaste. Before they head out and to their bedroom, John has them stop to do a breath-check like usual, and deems them all acceptable for the night.

Addie races Matty to the room, but Nico’s content to hold John’s hand. 

He bounces onto the nest -- a bigger upgrade since the twins were conceived and since Matty’s grown about four inches in the last six months and has a tendency to sprawl -- and then casts around in panic.

“Oh, no,” he says, “ _Papai_ , I left Badger on the couch.”

John doesn’t sigh, but it’s a near thing. He heaves himself up off the end of the bed and waddles to the landing, shouting, “Jordan? Can you grab Nico’s badger before you -- oh. Hi.” And sure enough, in Jordan’s hand is Badger. Sweetly as he can, John says, “Thank you, alpha.”

“You’re welcome, babe,” he says. He growls, but cuts it off quickly enough that John knows it wasn’t voluntary, and then says, “Come see me when you’re done.”

John’s nose wrinkles even as he tries to quell a smile. “Fine.”

Jordan waggles his brows, smirking, and then presses a kiss to John’s jaw as he leads the way into the kids’ bedroom. While John perches himself on the edge of the bed near Addie, Jordan gives a round of forehead kisses, says, “Goodnight, kiddos. Love you,” before he shuts off the light and cracks the door behind himself.

For a second, John just looks at his babies -- _kids_ , now, he guesses -- who stare right back, waiting for him to purr. Before he does, though, John says, “I love you all very, _very_ much and -- when these babies come out of my belly, they’ll need a lot of attention and a lot of my time. But I’ll still love you very, _very_ much, okay? Nothing will ever change that.”

He knows that they won’t understand it completely, not yet, but they all nod and Nico even chimes in an, “I love you, too, _Papai._ ”

Addie snuggles up beneath his chin and the other two curve around her.

It takes very little effort at all to start purring, thinking about how these will always be his babies, nose full of their sweet, mellow scents, a mix of apples and maple and honey beneath the scent of their bath soap and shampoo. At the moment, with a bed full of kids and a belly full of babies, there’s pretty much nowhere else John would rather be. 

 

He’s a little misty-eyed when he waddles his way across the open space of the upper floor to the master suite. Jordan’s in bed already, reading on a tablet in the lamplight even though it’s well before they’d normally give up the ghost and stray upstairs rather than stick it out on the couch with the TV on as background noise.

Jordan’s still absorbed in whatever it is he’s reading -- Twitter, probably -- so John gets the jump on him, posing in the doorway like a pinup. A nearly nine-months-pregnant -- with _twins_ \-- pinup.

He clears his throat and is privy to the look of surprise and then --

“Oh, my god, Johnny,” Jordan says, laughing brightly enough that John’s only a little bit worried about him waking the kids; John falls in love all over again. 

Stepping inside, John closes the door shut behind him, grinning as he makes his way to the bed.

Jordan opens up his arms and spreads a leg to knock John’s favorite body pillow further towards John’s side of the bed. There’s cocoa butter next to Jordan’s hairy thigh and he has a gleam in his eye that says he absolutely has an agenda and it involves, first and foremost, a belly massage.

“Oh, am I getting pampered?” John asks, “That the plan?”

Jordan’s chest puffs up as John perches on the edge of the bed, leaning back on bracing hands as he catches his breath. 

The sore feet and swollen ankles may have, admittedly, caught up with him.

“Uh huh,” Jordan says. “Swing those gams this way, bud. Feet first. We’ll get to belly later.”

“Oh, thank god,” John says.

Before anything else, Jordan yanks John’s sweatpants down his legs and flings them over towards the laundry basket, grinning when John sighs out a grateful breath and thumbs at the indentations from the elastic on his hips.

Jordan rocks onto his hands and knees to gather enough pillows to support John’s back, and then crawls back around, delicately grasps one of John’s swollen ankles and brings it into his lap. He’s liberal with the cocoa butter and John _melts_ , every limb going lax as Jordan thumbs solidly into the aches. John’s knees splay and his hands go to cradle his stomach, sighing as Jordan starts working his ankles.

Unbidden, John begins to purr. He rubs at his stomach, lets his fingers dance and his palms knead, and lets his eyes shut as Jordan begins working up his calves, the knots in his thighs, the tightness in his hips as his fingers slip up under John’s boxers.

Their hands meet on John’s belly.

“How’re you feeling?” Jordan asks quietly. It’s inquisitive -- less about the purrs and more about his physical state.

John opens his eyes, meets Jordan’s gaze as he bends to press a lingering kiss to the top crest of John’s oversized belly. “Tight,” is his reply when he’s finally able to answer. “A little uncomfortable.”

Jordan hums, frowning softly as he kneads into the jolting elbows and knees of the twins twisting and pressing in their cramped space. “Think they’ll make it this last week?”

Without hesitation, John shakes his head. “Maybe five more days, tops.”

Huffing a laugh, Jordan presses another kiss to John’s belly, sweeping touches wide around the sides. “You wanna bet on the day?” He only pauses to gather up more cocoa butter, applying it with heavy, sure strokes that set John’s skin buzzing.

“No,” he says, “Because if I win, you’ll accuse me of cheating.”

Jordan plays mock-offended, but John can’t even hear what he says over the groan that wells up in his throat when Jordan presses in just right. His hands crest up over John’s belly and knead at his chest and John -- he finally realizes that he’s getting hard, so relaxed that he thinks Jordan could just heft his legs up and slip right in.

But then he goes back to John’s belly, curving around it and growling, so unable to help himself that it has John huffing out a laugh.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Jordan says petulantly into where he’s scent-marking John’s belly. “I can’t help -- God, you smell so good, Johnny. Just -- all the fucking time.”

John hums, amused. “Oh, do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

Jordan laughs, burying it into John’s skin. “Yeah, okay,” he says. His hands trail lower, back at the crux of John’s hips, working out the tightness. “What’re you up for?”

Sighing, stretching, John runs hands up his chest and mulls it over.

He wouldn’t be opposed to a quick handy after the massage, but -- with the way he already feels relaxed and ready, soft and open and wet... He’s been napping basically all day; he can stay up long enough to get fucked, to pull every last thread of tension free from his body _and_ make his alpha lose his goddamn mind at the same time.

“Help me up onto my hands and knees and I’ll let you do me,” John says, wiggling his hips under Jordan’s hands.

“Mm, romantic,” Jordan says, grinning hard enough for the crinkles at the corners of his eyes to pop. “Kisses first, omega.”

John can’t even remotely pretend to push up onto his hands to meet Jordan halfway, not with as huge and fucked out as he’s already feeling, so he says, “Fine, but you gotta do all the work.”

“As if that’s new.”

For all of Jordan’s grousing, he’s happy enough to mold himself around John’s belly, to take his stubbly cheeks between calloused palms, and kiss the breath right out of him. He soothes down John’s sides, fondles his bicep, uses his reach to squeeze John’s ass --

John whines high in his throat and pushes back into the greedy hand, tugging at the elastic of his underwear, trying to get them _off_ so that --

“Yeah,” John mumbles into the kiss, sighing when Jordan trails down his jaw to suck gentle kisses into his throat. “Yeah.” He tugs, just hard enough to get them halfway down John’s hip on his free leg and, without preamble, he’s shoving a finger into John’s hole, sliding right in against barely any resistance. 

He’s slick and hot and -- _writhing_ , because it’s not enough -- 

It’s not nearly enough and not what John wants, even if he knows how much Jordan likes making him squirm on his hand. He gives him another, stroking in and coaxing out more slick before finally heeding John’s serrated whines.

“Good?”

“I want you to _fuck me_ ,” John says, “Not finger me, c’mon.”

Jordan rumbles a laugh, grinning and pulling back just enough to wield his smile at John. “You are pretty wet.”

“I’m a fucking slip ‘n’ slide back there,” John says around a laugh, “Just fuck me so we can sleep, alpha.”

Jordan nuzzles his nose against John’s before kissing him again, gives an, “Mm, okay,” and withdraws his fingers before sitting up again. “Maybe not on your hands and knees though, not -- last time scared me.”

John rolls his eyes but says, “ _Fine_ ,” because he wants to get fucked but he doesn’t want to, like...distress his alpha. Last pregnancy, John had only been comfortable being on his side, and this time, with a little less belly and a little bit more flexibility this far along, John’s been happy enough to be ass-up with Jordan’s hands on his hips.

Just because he might’ve accidentally lost his grip and fallen belly-first into the bed and _literal mountain of pillows_ , doesn’t mean that --

“How about…” Jordan muses, hand skittering down John’s thigh.

He doesn’t finish his thought aloud, instead opting to stand, shuck his underwear, and then help John tip over onto his side. Rather than spooning up behind him, though, Jordan lifts John’s leg while straddling the one still on the bed. “Hand me some pillows?” he asks, and when John does, he shoves them beneath his bent knee so that he’s braced by both those and one of Jordan’s thighs.

Kneeling over him as he is, Jordan’s huge and looming, eyes dark as sin and twice as hot.

“You’re so beautiful like this, Johnny,” Jordan says, stroking over the curve of John’s belly with one hand, kneading his ass with the other. 

His middle finger slips in to the second knuckle and John sighs out an, “ _Oh_ ,” as his hand goes to clutch at Jordan’s wrist. Jordan adds another, goes deeper, nudges against John’s prostate just to make him shake. “ _Jordan_ , if you don’t --”

Jordan laughs, twists his fingers, and leans in to bite the side of John’s pec. 

John’s not above begging.

But, as if Jordan can scent the annoyance verging on anger, he withdraws his fingers to instead spread John open, sitting upright again to guide himself in. The first slide stretches John wide, makes his breath catch in the way it always does, surprise at the pleasure, at the sensation of being filled and feeling like -- like he’s finally whole.

Jordan slumps forward a little once he’s in, just rocking his hips a little as he laves sucking kisses into whatever skin he can reach while John relaxes into the feeling.

He starts purring, hoping Jordan will take the cue to --

He _does_.

“ _Oh,_ ” John sighs again, softening his grip on Jordan’s wrist until he can twine their fingers together over the side of his belly. “Alpha.”

Jordan pauses just long enough to ask, “You good?”

John nods, tries to hitch his hips back so that Jordan will get him good and deep like he wants, but he just -- he can’t _move_ the way he wants to, so he whines quietly, high in the back of his throat and --

The next thrust is perfect. The one after that has John purring again, and each subsequent one feels better than the last, building, building, building until John’s overwhelmed with it, shuddering and shifting, trying to squirm closer and get away at the same time.

Jordan growls, this low rumble that makes John squeeze his fingers, purring in reassurance.

John’s thighs tremble as Jordan strokes in and _grinds_ , staying deep enough that John sees stars for a moment, full up on sensation and scent of Jordan _finally_ giving himself over to it -- no more worrying, no more tension, just enjoying the sex and the sight and the sounds of their bodies in a way that has John’s toes curling, clenching up, tightening down.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Jordan says, “God, Johnny. C’mon, you gotta -- I’m gonna --”

John hums on a purr and releases Jordan’s fingers, pushing at his hand and saying, “ _Touch me,_ ” because Jordan just kind of stares at it, scent giving off a muted, confused hurt flavor that makes John roll his eyes, but feel smug all the same. He kind of loves it when Jordan can’t do much but think with his knot. “Please, alpha, let me -- I wanna come, Jordan, please,” John babbles, letting it build up at the base of his groin, leaking across the rounded bottom of his belly --

At least until Jordan takes him in hand, groaning out a, “ _Fuck_ ,” it takes all of a couple of strokes to have John shaking apart, coming across Jordan’s knuckles, _dying_ with how good it fucking feels.

He can hear himself, distantly, can hear Jordan warn him, can feel Jordan smear John’s come into his belly as he grinds in, knot expanding until John catches him, keeps him.

“Oh, my god,” John breathes, “Oh, god.”

Jordan’s still coming, but he manages a half-hysterical laugh, rubbing up and over John’s belly with his messy hand as his hips give minute little twitches while he keeps spilling over, filling John up.

Breath caught, John can finally enjoy the boneless feeling of it.

Jordan curls over him, eyes squeezed shut, still panting, still _coming_ , and John just pets at his hair, across his cheeks, and scruffy jaw, purring as contentedly as ever. “Love you, alpha,” he says. “Love that you do this for me.”

Jordan huffs a laugh and purses his lips at John’s fingers, the shadow of a kiss.

“Tha’was good,” Jordan slurs, grinning all wide and dumb at John.

“You look high as fuck,” John points out, smiling when Jordan gives a giggle and tries to bury his face into John’s armpit.

“‘s because I _am_ ,” he retorts. “God. Pregnant sex is so good.”

John hums, fingers tracing the thundering pulse beneath Jordan’s bond-bite. “You like _all_ the sex, don’t even.”

Again, Jordan giggle a little, agreeing with a quiet, “Yeah.” He presses a kiss to John’s arm and then starts the process of twisting around, only tugging at John’s rim a little bit as he spoons up behind him so they can doze until his knot goes down. He nuzzles at John’s bond-bite and says, “You’re not wrong. I like everything with you. This whole life thing? It’s the best.”

“You’re _so high,_ ” John says, laughing into the pillow. 

“Because you’re _pregnant,_ ” Jordan argues, “‘s not my fault.”

John’s laugh trickles off into a purr and Jordan just slumps even closer into him, clinging like he’s trying to burrow deeper. 

They doze for the amount of time it takes Jordan’s knot to go down and then Jordan’s sliding out of bed and offering out his hands to John. He takes them, hefts himself out of the bed with Jordan’s help and only a minor amount of giggling about it, and then leads the way into the bathroom. He’s well and truly over the vague embarrassment about being forced to sit to pee, but Jordan’s too busy brushing his teeth and then chugging a glass of water to do more than whine softly at the trickle of come leaving John’s body. 

John says, “Hush, I’m already pregnant,” and Jordan snorts around the glass.

Wordlessly, he helps John clean up the residue of the come with a baby wipe once he’s gotten himself standing again, unabashed about even _this_ level of taking care of his omega, and puts a guiding hand on his hip.

Before helping John into bed, he smacks a kiss to his shoulder and helps him into a loose pair of boxers. 

“ _God_ ,” John says, heaving himself to the center of the nest. “I can’t wait to stop feeling like a beached whale.”

Jordan laughs. “You’re amazing, Johnny,” he says, crawling up after him. He hits the lamp light on the nightstand and snuggles up against John’s back after making sure he has all the pillows necessary for a comfortable sleep. “Just -- the fact that you’re doing this again...even after last time, I just. I’m really fucking lucky, you know?”

“Mm,” John hums, lulled by the quiet and Jordan’s happy-sweet scent. “You really are, aren’t ya, bud?”

“The luckiest.” Jordan nuzzles, drawn by the pheromones, and John shivers. 

He can’t see Jordan’s face but he can hear the sincerity, can _feel_ it in his tone, dancing along John’s spine. 

“I’ve been thinking….” John muses quietly, rubbing low on his belly where the mess that Jordan rubbed in has since dried and been cleaned away. His fingers touch Jordan’s, and Jordan twines them together, encouraging him to continue with a kiss to the nape of his neck and a soft noise. “Halina and Hania. Hallie and Han.”

They’re sleeping inside him, not roused in the least bit after John’s heart rate started nearing normal, but he’d like to imagine that they approve.

Jordan does, at least, because his scent goes soft, sweet, mellow. It’s approval in its purest form. “Yeah,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “Those’ll, um.” He clears his throat. “Those’ll work. Good names. I’m -- I’m glad you finally picked.” 

John squeezes Jordan’s hand and says, “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, feel free to send me messages, questions, comments, or prompts on [tumblr](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com)!!!


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